


marionette

by mistyviolin



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Gen, It's real dragon hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 01:44:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyviolin/pseuds/mistyviolin
Summary: Mordred spends some time with the clan leader.





	marionette

[](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=36608060)  
Mordred;

[](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22489803)  
Penumbra

\---

“Stay still, Mora,” chides Penumbra gently as she positions the intricate headpiece with careful hands. Mordred merely flicks his ear in response, the glass-like feathers brushing against his scales, though he indeed tries his best to stifle his uncomfortable squirming. He watches how even in the dimness of her den, the Sea Mother’s feathers are as brilliant and as iridescent as they are in the day; she glows, the light reflecting off the murky walls, dancing as she moves to grab ahold of another piece of apparel somewhere behind her.

“That’s not my name,” he mumbles, belatedly. He knows it matters not what he says; Penumbra has been calling him Mora for as long as they have known each other, and he doubts she would see fit to stop now. As he expects, Penumbra lets out a bark of laughter.

“I rescue you from the brink and I am not allowed even this simple pleasure? For shame, Mordred,” she bemoans tearfully. She is behind him now, clasping a Sylvan necklace around his neck, cautious so as to not pinch the scales. Mordred could refute her by saying he doesn’t remember being on “the brink” at all, but he stays silent. The Imperial hums contentedly as she continues to adorn him with jewelry and silks quite possibly fashioned from moonlight itself; he is enamored with how it flows softly around him, almost with a will of its own.

As Penumbra fastens anklets on his hind legs, he grows restless. The pile of clothing behind her doesn’t seem like it’s shrunk at all, and he’s become weary of being dressed like a doll.

“I can dress myself, you know,” he says a bit harsher than he intended, and he feels Penumbra pause. A coldness pools in his belly suddenly and he sorely wishes he hadn’t opened his maw at all. At the end of the day, Penumbra is very much the clan leader, and he should be grateful that he’s receiving such personal attention from her. Penumbra’s hands withdraw from his ankles, and she turns away from him back to the insurmountable pile of silks. Mordred watches her take hold of the thick white cape at the top of the pile, but she doesn’t move beyond that. He tries very hard not to audibly swallow.

“Do I bother you so greatly, Mordred?” He deflates slightly. She sounds more saddened than angered, and guilt runs hot through him.

“Of course not,” Mordred says quietly, looking anywhere but at her.

From the corner of his eye, he sees her turn around, still grasping the cloak. “You’re very beautiful, Mora,” she says steadily. “Above all, I treasure beautiful things the most.. and there is beauty in everything. In the ice. In our clan. But most of all, in you.”

If he were younger, or perhaps naive, he might’ve been giddy or embarrassed by her words. Instead he only feels vague discomfort, and continues to avoid Penumbra’s gaze.

“So I only think it fair to decorate you so… Beauty should be celebrated, Mora. Do you not agree?” 

He chances a glance at her. She is expressionless.

Mordred does his best not to fidget. “I agree,” he says slowly, keeping his voice level.

Penumbra’s satisfaction is palpable, and he feels the atmosphere in the den relax. “Don’t shy away from me, Mora,” she hums. “Let me see your eyes.”

He turns back to her now, though it is still difficult to look her in the face. But he pushes past his discomfort and obliges, if only to appease her. She sighs, visibly pleased.

“Such beautiful eyes,” she murmurs. “More so than even others from your birthflight.. Did you steal them, perhaps?” and though the notion is ridiculous, Mordred finds himself unable to answer.

“Though of course I jest,” she laughs lightly. “Here, this is the last piece, I promise,” and she fastens the cloak just below the necklace she’d put on him earlier. Mordred lets out a short huff and cranes his neck to allow her to maneuver with more ease. The situation seems to at least have been diffused for now, though Penumbra tightens the cloak around him just a little too much at first, and he has to ask her to loosen it.


End file.
